The Reddest Rose
by FizzyLemon
Summary: Belle stared up at the figure in horror, falling back over a broken marble bench. She'd meant to be brave. She'd meant to not cry. Yet tears streamed down her cheeks and tremors took her body. She'd done this for her father. The minute he crawled in through the front door coughing and retching with fear, she knew she'd be giving something up.
1. Chapter 1

She woke to the sound of an explosion. It jarred her from a beautiful, golden dream of a magnificent garden and sent her stumbling toward the window. She was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she pushed the yellowed curtains aside and wrenched open the window. Another explosion rocked the cottage, and for the briefest of moments she considered what being an orphan would be like. Then her father stumbled up from the cellar, baptized in the smoke of his latest flawed invention. "Papa!" She cried, relief flooding her tone with joy. "Papa, what on earth are you doing?"

Her door opened with a slam. "You know he's making something to ruin us even _more_," Said her elder sister Laura, tossing her heavy blonde hair over one shoulder. While somewhat jealous of her sister's fine looks, it wasn't a hassle to go without what it took to get them. She draped herself in the finest fabrics, which was a pretty penny in itself, but of course she right out demanded it to be dyed in the most ridiculous of colors. Blood reds and ruby, even a few in deep purple and lapis.

Pauline swept in behind her, Laura's twin in everything but age. Thankfully she was a tad more resigned, and while she took whatever styles Laura insisted she wear, she clung to earthier greens and yellows. With skillful fingers she began an elaborate twist and finished it off with Laura's typical red ribbon, all the while her eldest sister stepped closer to the window to peer down at their father. "He is making a fool of this family. I don't know why you encourage him, little sister. You're almost as bad as he is," Pauline nodded in agreement.

"Laura, you promised to introduce me to that handsome man you met last week! I even got up early. Aren't we going?" She crossed her arms and pouted, her full lips pursing in the prettiest of ways. "Or must we invite Belle? Look at her, she's still in her shift!"

"Thank you, but no. I have a few things to do around the farm first. Papa looks like he needs a bit of help," Her sisters left quickly, leaving her to wash and tie up her own long hair. She preferred being alone with their father. When he worked as a merchant seeing him was a rare occurrence. As a child the stories he brought were more valuable than the treats. The small women with the voices as sharp as bells, who gifted him with tea and skeins of silk were as fascinating as the lizards he returned with from the deserts. Then someone in London had gone on to tell him all about _inventions_ and how wonderfully _creative_ he could be and, well, he hadn't set foot on a ship since.

She ran her hands over her few dresses, her fingers catching on almost half a dozen holes. A few of his toys had taken off, but hadn't earned more than would feed them and their horses. Belle pulled her favorite dress, one of the softest wool in the lightest of blues, and frowned at several large holes on the front. She pulled it over her shift and found a clean apron to hide the damage, then slipped on a pair of stiff black shoes. Belle made it out to the barn just as her sisters did, their faces made up almost beyond recognition.

"Papa, you cannot sell the blue carriage! How else are we to get into town? It's nearly five miles! Do you mean us to take the black?" Laura pressed a hand to her heaving chest and Belle hid a smile. Admitting it had been her idea was the last thing on her -

"Darling, Belle suggested it," The look her sister cast her way would have frozen the fire in the hearth. "It would keep us from having to sell all the horses. I know the blue carriage was your mother's but it shall fetch a higher price!" Her father was not a strong or willful man. His back was bent with the demands of his daughters, and when their mother had been around it had bent beneath hers as well. His grey hair and liver spotted hands made him look much older than his fifty years, and the cough he was developing wasn't eased by his experiments. Belle gave her father a kiss on the cheek and slipped around him to Philippe's stall. The large horse stomped one foot and nudged her shoulder, seeking out a treat. She stroked his mane as her family argued.

"So you're truly going to sell it?" Pauline asked, stepping up with a smile. "Could you bring me back a new skein of fabric for a gown? Or a new corset?"

"Of course, I'll have enough money to bring you all back -"

"Oh Papa, why didn't you say something? I know exactly what I'd like!"

And that was that. Belle looked on as her father was set upon by demand after demand, all with him promising again and again that he could certainly bring it back for them. Her heart sunk to her toes as her sisters climbed into the blue carriage for one last trip and left for town, their smaller white horses in the lead. Her father sadly trudged back into the cottage while she finished her chores, mucking out the stall and adding fresh hay to the cool earth floor. She tended to her garden, pulling weeds and pruning roses until her fingertips were raw and the skin on the back of her neck was pink.

"Father, will selling the blue carriage be enough?" She inquired, bringing in an apron full of eggs from the chickens and wild mushrooms from where they clucked about. Her deep brown eyes were troubled as they focused on her dirty hands. "I suppose you would be taking Nieve with you, she does make it look quite beautiful," She stepped outside to wash her hands and returned to find her father slicing the mushrooms. A black pot filled with water hung over the fire, and after a sniff tossed in a fistful of dried basil swinging just above her head.

"I hope it should. I may return to being a merchant," He tossed the mushrooms into the pot and added a bit of salt. Belle countered with leeks and a bit of salted beef they had left, as well as half a dozen chopped potatoes. "An old acquaintance of mine says that a ship is coming into port with a load I may take on. I may return us to the wealth we once enjoyed," He patted her hand and made his way upstairs while Belle made work on a set of savory cakes to go along with the soup. After serving a late breakfast to her father and some for herself, the two made quick work of the rest of the chores. The beds were aired, clothes were washed, floors were scrubbed to shining. Her father retreated back to the cellar with promises of no more explosions. She exercised Philippe with a quick gallop across the meadow, pausing to gather more wild mushrooms and several bunches of wild flowers to decorate the interior of their comfortable home.

It was while she was out on the meadow that the bells tolled. The wonderful, marvelous bells that no one could place. They rang out through the valley and even the birds seemed to pause in their song. They were sweet, yet somber, and if she listened hard enough she was sure she could actually hear singing. It took everything in her to not lie down and waste the day away there. Still she dawdled, and plucked a bouquet of wildflowers while Philippe grazed. By the time she returned home, the blue carriage was in its place and she could hear the peals of her sisters' laughter from inside. What she didn't expect was the rich baritone that joined them. She led Philippe back into his stable and gave him a quick brushing, eying a strange black horse suspiciously. Who was their guest?

"Papa, I'm home. Did you invite someone from...the village?" His black hair was pulled tight at the nape of his neck. It gave her a perfect view of his hard, square jaw and the hypnotizing blue eyes that moved between her sisters. While his face was shaved clean, as smooth as her own even, a bit of dark hair peeked at her from his tightly buttoned shirt. Thick cords of muscle roped his bare arms. If not for the fact that he had a pair of disgusting boots on the table her father had built, she would have welcomed the company. Her father was not in the room, but both of her sisters were seated comfortably with the stranger.

"Oh, Gaston this is our little sister. Belle, Gaston came to call on us today. We met him in town and he was so _fascinated_ with Papa's inventions that he came right over!" He stood then, towering so far over her she had to crane her neck to look up at him. He stepped forward and lifted one of her limp, burning hands to his lips and graced it with a kiss. Belle blushed so furiously that Pauline nudged the back of her knee with one pointed shoe.

"Belle..." The way he rolled her name across his tongue had her smiling. "You are as beautiful as your name. Your father tells me you were the one who prepared our supper?"

She glanced at the empty soup pot, with a myriad of dishes stacked beside it, and nodded. "Yes, I hope you enjoyed it."

"Very much. I've seen your sisters in the village many times before, but never you. You don't join them, cherie?" He led her to a seat then took his own again, but he didn't kick her feet up onto the table. She took the opportunity to reach forward and wipe the surface clean.

"No, my Papa has so much he's working on that I take care of the cottage." She smoothed her dirty skirt over her knees and crossed her ankles. "Things used to be different, but I act as the woman of the house now." The moment she said it she wished she'd held her tongue. Laura's cheeks had gone red and her lips were pressed so tightly together they may have actually disappeared for a moment. A second later however, and Laura's trill laughter rang through the house.

"You? The woman of the house? Belle, sometimes I think you forget you're the youngest. It's good that you stay to help Papa. The lady of the house certainly wouldn't. Mama never did. Now, as the true _woman_ of the house I'm asking you to take care of this mess. Won't you clean it up?" She waved her hand at the mess and Belle eagerly complied. She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and tried hard not to feel Gaston's eyes on her. She'd never had this type of attention from any man before and she wasn't sure if she wanted it.

He stayed for well over an hour, the end of which time she'd settled into her favorite chair with a hefty book. She was lost in her thoughts when Gaston abruptly plucked the book from her hands. "You read?" He asked scornfully, flipping through the pages so fast he almost tore them from the spine. "What for? There's no purpose to it." Belle felt her eyebrows pulling together into a glare. Was he...insulting her? If nothing else he was insulting her favorite book and that was just as bad. She opened her mouth to reply, but only managed a strangled gasp as he tossed the book behind him and onto the table. The spine hit one corner before tumbling to the floor with a loud thump. Laura and Pauline giggled.

"Oh Gaston, don't tease. She has such a love of her books that I fear she forgets she doesn't live in them." Laura said, coming up to take his arm. "Please don't let our boorish sister turn you away. Next time we'll have a lovely cake, and if you can bring a nice stag I'll have her roast it for you. She is good for cooking and mending if not company." Laura cast a scornful frown over her shoulder as she walked Gaston out to the stable and Belle retrieved her book.

She couldn't help the tears that welled up in her eyes as she gently took the book up to her room. Laura was right. She didn't live in her books, but she wanted to. She wanted to more than anything.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all for such kind reviews! I do my best to combine the original story and the movie, and it's good to know others like it as well. I'm going to try to update **Rose** and **Silk** together. Should you have any Disney tales you'd like to have rewritten, I'd be more than happy to hear your suggestions.  
_

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Belle woke still clothed, with her precious book cradled in her arms. The sun was barely peeking into her bedroom but she could already hear a commotion downstairs. Her father was exclaiming something, and the excited trills of her sisters meant they were up much earlier than usual. Having still half a pitcher of fresh water to wash up with, she cleaned her arms and face before loosening her hair and brushing it out. She tied it up once more, this time in a tight bun that she covered with a bit of scrap cloth. She planned on doing a thorough mucking out of the stables, and the last time she'd done that it had taken weeks to get all of the hay out of her hair. Ignoring the fact that her clothes were a day old and unchanged, she hurried downstairs.

"Belle! You'll never believe the news Papa just got! We're going to be rich again!" Laura was hardly dressed for the day. Yet even in only her shift she looked the figure of perfection, with her hair tumbling down around her shoulders and a smile wide enough to light up heaven.

"Did you come upon money?" Her father sat at their kitchen table with a letter in his hand and a nervous smile on his face. She took a seat next to him and he held it out to her, smiling as his eldest daughter danced around the cottage with Pauline, the two of them declaring all the wonderful things they would soon have. "This friend...he says one of your ships survived? We have goods to sell?" Her father nodded as she looked it over. "It says to come as soon as possible. Do you leave soon?" When she met his eyes, she was startled to see tears there.

"Yes. I just wanted to wait for you to waken. I could never go without telling you." He pushed himself up from the table and kissed the top of her head. "We will certainly have all we once did. I know it has been hard, but I promise things will go easier for us now. Tell me daughters, what would you like me to bring you from the cities?" It seemed that was the end of the calm. Her sisters erupted into lists that stretched miles long. Jewelry and hair pins and gowns and silk. They asked for chocolates and champagne and for the carriage to receive fresh paint. Laura demanded a new pair of dancing shoes and a skirt hemmed in gold. Pauline wanted makeup and ribbons and a new lace bodice. She wanted cows for fresh milk and a kitten to play with.

"What is it you want, Belle?" Her father asked as he mounted Phillipe. He would fasten his goods to the horse and hopefully sell most of it before returning. She patted the horse's rump and smiled sadly up at her father. Far away the bells tolled, and they merely echoed the feeling of concern growing in her chest. Laura and Pauline left not long after Belle made breakfast, eager to tell everyone in the village about their father's good fortune. They'd put on their best things, which were already much too fine for such simple people. Why they'd requested gold and silks was beyond her. Couldn't they be happy with their lives?

"I want you to come home safely, Papa. Nothing more." Her father adjusted his riding gloves and smiled, sitting a little straighter in the saddle. Belle spent her morning packing a hefty satchel of food and drink, and repairing the few holes in his finer clothes. He'd been handsome as a merchant, and now without his daily coating of soot and metal shavings she could see it again. It was easy to see why her mother had fallen in love with him.

"Three things, Belle." Her father said, suddenly pulling her from her thoughts. "Tell me three things you wish and I shall bring them to you."

"Your health to be well," She said after a moment. "Phillipe to carry you safely home..." She thought for a moment as she stroked the steed. "And the first rose to strike your hat on the way home. I'll plant it outside the door and encourage a plant to grow, just like Mother did." She couldn't let her father see her cry. He'd been gone so many times before - why should this be any different? "I'll keep things working properly, Papa. Go quickly and return faster." She kissed his cheek as he rode down the lane, hoping he wouldn't turn around and see the sadness in her eyes.

It took close to an hour for Phillipe's stall to begin looking presentable. By then the day had grown warm, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her arms and face. What wasn't covered by the cloth over her hair was full of dust and hay. Her hands ached from gripping the pitchfork and her knees were bruised from scrubbing the stone floor. Her fingers were red and raw from the mixture of boiling water and lye she'd used to clean it all with. "Fresh straw is all it needs." She said as she surveyed her work. With her father gone for at least a week, she had the opportunity to air out his bedding, but that would require clean hands.

Who knew when her sisters would be home? She had to take as much advantage of this time as she could. She changed her soiled apron for a clean one, but after realizing how much filthy laundry there was she changed from her fathers bedding to the clothing of the household. She wrapped armfuls in sheets and skirts, then carried the lot of it down the hill to where a crisp, cool spring ran. She slipped free of her shoes and stockings, and stepped into the bubbling water. It was so cold her toes curled, but the pleasure of it made her laugh. Soon she was singing and humming and scrubbing the dirt from the clothes. It was enjoyable to say the least, and the water washed away the filth from the barn.

"Madame Belle! Do not tell me this land is your family's property as well?" The voice was low, familiar. She spun at the sound of the rich baritone.

"Monsieur Gaston! It is." She shaded her eyes to look up at him and saw the stag lying on the rump of his enormous horse. The beast pawed the earth and snorted. "You were hunting here?" She noticed only then the gun slung around his back, and the smaller man that rode at his side on a smaller horse. It was dappled gray with too small eyes and a crooked back, and seemed to suit the oddly built man well. It looked like his jacket was straining to hold in his gut, and while he had the face of a boy (save for an extremely large nose) he had the posture of a much older man.

"My companion, LeFou," He said dismissively. "Yes, I was. The surrounding forest is ripe with creatures eager to be slain." He led the horse up to the creek side and smiled down at her. "If you invite me and my companion for a late meal, I'll more than happily give you this kill to make it with." He lifted the head of the deer and seemed more than able to ignore the blood it left on his hand.

"Thank you, Gaston, but no. I must refuse. My Papa has gone to the city. I would be happy to permit you to hunt here, if you give us a share of your bounty. I'll take one of those quail you have strung beside the deer." She held out one hand expectantly and managed a smile, although she felt sure his eyes were boring through her sopping wet dress. What exactly was he doing here? Her father's land was known by everyone in the village - they didn't have much, but they at least had that. Had Gaston _known_ it was their land and come to hunt anyway? What sort of person would do that without permission?

"Your sisters didn't tell me how funny you were, Belle." He laughed, pulling the reigns to force his mount away. "I'll come to join you and your sisters for supper this evening. The deer will be waiting for you." With that he was gone, leaving her sputtering in the stream. How _dare_ he! He had to be aware of the lack of propriety! Without her father present, how would it be seen in a good light? She furiously finished washing the clothes and laid them out to dry alongside the bank. She napped beside the clothes until the sun grew hot enough to bring out the cicadas, who screamed higher with the heat. She carried home the dried skirts and blankets and aprons, and hung them in the bedrooms to pull out the wrinkles at a later time. True to his word, Gaston left the stag just inside. He'd relieved it of its head, and a pool of bright red blood circled its throat. He'd been kind enough to leave it on the floor beside the hearth, and thankfully flies had not yet gathered.

By the time her sisters returned from the village, accompanied by Gaston, she was changed and clean, and the deer was roasting. Some of it she'd shoved into a barrel of salt, which she then tucked into the basement to dry. She'd found a bottle of wine that hadn't cost too much and added it to their meal. When the quartet walked in she met them with a smile. "Bonjour! Supper is ready. You had a fine day in the village, Laura?" Her sister was clutching Gaston's arm like her life depended on it, and Pauline was scowling at the attention LeFou was giving her. The little man snorted when he laughed, and Belle couldn't help smiling.

"Belle, I was just telling your sisters how funny you were today. The deer smells delicious. I can't wait to sink my teeth into it." He looked her up and down as he said the words, and she couldn't help but shudder.

"Well then, please, help yourselves. I have bread ready as well." She said, bringing out a small collection of dishes from a cupboard. Laura and Pauline sat themselves around their dining table, LeFou gracing both with her presence, and Belle didn't notice Gaston wasn't still with them until she felt his hand on her waist. She stiffened as he leaned forward and lifted five ceramic bowls from her hands.

"You are not married, how can this be? You cook and bake and keep a house..."

She could feel the blush rising in her cheeks at his closeness, and quickly slipped away from him. In one smooth move she had plucked the dishes from his grip and removed herself as well. "I haven't found the right man yet, sir."

"Don't let her fool you, Gaston. Our sister means to be a spinster if there was ever anyone who truly was." Laura had poured herself a generous glass of wine and finished more than half of it. "She lives for her books and for _love_. Soon we shall have the money to pursue such silly things." Belle quietly served her sisters and then their guests, allowing them to take over the conversation.

She then tried very hard to ignore the attention of Gaston.

Throughout the meal he encouraged conversation with her - then teased or mocked her opinions.  
He made to hold her hand or slip an arm around her shoulders - then grew angry when she slipped free or laughed him away.

By the end of the evening she was red in the face and not from the wine. Laura had gone to retrieve a second bottle halfway through their meal, but Belle had gone without. It was appalling. Her sisters were mindless flirts, and Gaston made himself so comfortable his shoes were once more on the table. LeFou was making a _Le Fool_ of himself and eventually she'd had enough. "I'm sorry, but I am very tired. I had a terribly long day. Enjoy your wine." She took a book from its shelf near the door.

"Stay, Belle! You are our hostess, aren't you?" Gaston stood and plucked the book from her hands, intending to throw it aside. Her hands reached out even more quickly to yank it back. "Belle, drink with us. Dine with us. You've prepared such a marvelous meal!"

Belle frowned. "No thank you, it really is late." As if on cue the bells rang again, signalling the latest part of the evening. "It's midnight, Monsieur. I truly think the meal has gone long enough. Perhaps you should be on your way."

The laughter at the table quieted before Laura stood and swayed towards her and Gaston, narrowing her eyes as she looked down on her younger sister. "True, midnight is late. It is the darkest part of the night. Almost too dark to ride home..."

"No, we will go." Gaston said sharply. "I shall see you sometime in the village, Belle. Next time perhaps, I shall call on you through your father." He kissed the back of her hand and nodded. "We'll see if you turn me away then."


	3. Chapter 3

For several weeks Gaston's attention grew and focused. It began with a hand at her back that had no place there. Several days later his fingers tangled with her own when she reached for the reigns of her he was cornering her as she exited the bookstore, or following a few strides too closely as she took a long path home. Several times he'd demanded a kiss hello or goodbye, and once he'd gotten very close to stealing one. Except, it wasn't teasing. If it had been, she might have teased back. No, the green-hued and fading bruises on her arms declared Gaston's true intentions. It had gotten to the point that she was concerned for her own well being. She prayed her father would return soon to relieve her of these unwelcome advances.

Yet the weeks passed...and passed again...and then the months...and still there was no sign of him.

It was fear of encountering Gaston that had her home on Christmas Eve, rather than celebrating with her sisters at the tavern. She'd lit candles and made a thick cider to lull herself to sleep. Outside the wind howled. Her sisters would undoubtedly seek a night with their friends in the village, and their horse would be warm and dry in their stable. She'd curled herself into her father's chair with a book, and let her hair tangle free around her shoulders. She was relaxed, she was almost asleep... Then her father tumbled in through the door she'd left unlatched. The wind howled at his back, and pushed a flurry of snow over her clean floors. He coughed and retched as he dragged himself inside, away from the fury of the storm. Belle overturned a table in her hurry to get to him, her book discarded and forgotten in the slush that had gotten inside. "Papa!" She pushed the door closed and dragged a second log onto the hearth. On the floor her father shook and coughed, sending phlegm and spittle flying from his mouth. His cheeks were sunken, his skin sallow and icy to the touch.

What had happened to him? She dragged him closer to the fire and stripped away his filthy, wet outer layers. It was only then that she realized just how bruised and cold he was. There was a strong possibility that he would lose his toes. She forced hot cider down his throat and pulled the blankets from the beds to nest him. It was several hours before his trembling stopped, but she couldn't possibly risk going into the village to fetch the doctor. She treated him as she had the calf they'd once found laid in the snow, its skin mostly blue and almost as stiff as a new book spine. She warmed him and fed him once he was willing to take food, and by the time the sun rose he had some color back in his cheeks.

"Papa," She breathed a sigh of relief as he stirred, stroking the thick growth of hair around his jaw. "Papa, where have you been?"

"B-belle?" It took him a minute to focus his gaze on her, and when he had she was horrified to see the glaze of tears. "Belle, I've done the most terrible thing." He pushed himself from the chair and waved away her help. "No, no, I have to...I have to think. Oh Belle, you can never forgive me." He walked upstairs as though each step was thousands of miles high, and she thought for sure his trembling would send him right back down again. She brought him tea and soup, which he thankfully ate and drank, but he said barely two words to her. Only when she went back upstairs to tell him her sisters were home did he show any sign of interest.

"Papa's home? Why didn't he write to us? We would have been here to meet him!" Laura said with a scowl, unpinning her curls from the loose bun they'd been confined to.

"He wasn't in any shape to, I don't think. He was half dead when he crawled in the door. I nearly died of shock myself," Belle shot back, her fist forcing a bubble of air from the ball of dough she kneaded. She pulled and twisted it into a braid which she then placed into the stone oven set atop the fire they had blazing.

"Did he say anything of the money? Or the dresses?" Pauline asked, licking a bit of jam from her little finger. Both girls had entered the house famished beyond all reason (according to Laura) and Belle was making certain their father would hear none of their complaints.

"No, because there isn't any." All three girls whirled to find their father swaying in the doorway, his hands clutching an ornately carved, dark wood box. It was Laura and Pauline who ushered him to a seat. "There was a ship, which I'd meant to purchase. It struck the rocks and sank, taking anything of value with it. Including the lives of the crew, and that of a dear friend of mine. I looked for any work in the city but found none. I couldn't possibly sell Phillipe, and that seemed to be all anyone was interested in, so I started for home."

Belle poured a mug of cider and shoved in a hot poker so that it steamed, then passed it to him. He set the box on the table and took the mug from her. "When was that, Papa?"

His eyes looked distant. "What is the day?"

"Well...it's Christmas, Papa."

He slumped back into the chair. "Months ago, my daughter. It was before the snow set in." A cough stopped him and shook his shoulders. When he was finally able to breathe again, he spoke. "I was riding home when I remembered what you'd wanted Belle, a rose. Just a simple rose. I couldn't buy even that for you. So I started searching for one. Suddenly there were...there were wolves. And the rain. Phillipe could barely run and I could barely see and then...suddenly we were in a courtyard." He took in a shuddering breath. "All I could smell were flowers, but I couldn't see them. I found a stable with a locking door and put Phillipe there for the night, and I...I went in search of help." He lowered his head into his hands.

"I thought I would find shelter there for the night," He said imploringly, as though looking for justification. Laura stood near the doorway, her arms crossed under her chest. Pauline sat beside their father with one hand on his shoulder, and Belle had taken her usual place at his feet. He put a hand on her head. "When I reached the door, I saw it was open, but though I shouted, nobody came to greet me. I went inside, still calling out to attract attention. The rain was turning to sleet. On a table in the main hall, a splendid dinner lay already served. It was more than we've seen in a year." He swallowed hard. "I lingered, still shouting for the owner of the castle. But no one came, and so I sat down to a hearty meal. Overcome by curiosity, I ventured upstairs, where the corridor led into magnificent rooms and halls. More than anything you've ever dreamed of, Belle! Better than all of your stories. A fire crackled in the first room and a soft bed looked very inviting. It was now late, and I could not resist. I lay down on the bed and fell fast asleep. When I woke next morning, an unknown hand had placed a mug of steaming coffee and some fruit by my bedside."

Belle frowned. Where were the servants? The butlers or cooks? Such a magnificent place was sure to have them.

"I stayed for a week while the storm strengthened, then thinned. Phillipe was taken care of as well, and I still don't know who did. After a week I went to leave, but took one last turn around the courtyard. Then I found...I found a gate." His voice trembled. "I unlatched it and stepped through, and there was...there was a rose bush. It was so beautiful. Belle, I had to get you one. I had to." His voice cracked. "Just as I'd plucked one, I met the...the master of the house. He was...a...a monster! He said he would kill me, but I told him how you wanted a rose of your own."

Belle jerked away from her father. "Papa, what did you do?"

"I was a prisoner for weeks, Belle. Weeks! He...he agreed to spare my life, and to give us all we would ever need, if only one of you would agree to be his prisoner in my stead. Otherwise, I would die, and the three of you would perish in street. You would be destitute, and orphaned, and my heart could not take that. All one of you has to do is go in my place, and we shall have more than enough." He looked to Laura first. She was the eldest. It was her obligation. "Please,"

"Papa, you cannot be serious. There are plenty of men here for me to marry. I would never be destitute," She sniffed, frowning at the box on the table. "Why would I give my life into the hands of a strange man I've never met? It's barbaric."

Pauline offered similar, although apologetic, sentiments.

"I'll go, Papa. You're right. We shouldn't be orphaned, and if this...man has agreed to care for you and my sisters then why wouldn't I?" She managed a smile, even though her heart was flipping in her chest. "I don't know who will cook for you." She laughed a little. "How...how do I get there? When do I go?"

"You take this, my darling girl." He passed her the box. "Inside is a ring. It will guide you to the castle. You must go as soon as the storm ends. He said if no one returns in a week, he'll seek us out and make us wish I'd never laid sight on his home. Phillipe will take you, the ring will guide you, and then all of us will be safe." He slumped back in his seat. "We'll all be safe."

The following morning was cloudless. Everything was blanketed in white, and as she saddled Phillipe she imagined the burn in her eyes was from the cold rather than tears. She'd dressed warmly, and taken enough food to make the next town, but was otherwise without baggage. Papa and her sisters still slept - she'd watched the sun rise through a veil of tears so thick she thought she would drown in them. Her father had given her away without a blink. Wealth? Was that what she was worth to him? He had to know her sisters would never have agreed to the offer. She was his only hope now. Their only hope. What sort of man would threaten a poor man with death? She mounted Phillipe and her breath puffed white in the early morning air.

In her lap, clutched in her gloved hands, was the box her father had clutched so desperately.

The dark wood was heavier than she'd thought it would be. The lid was engraved with flowers of all sorts, the wood shaped into the most beautiful carvings she'd ever seen. The box wasn't latched, although it resisted as she pushed the lid up. Inside, on a bed of velvet, was a small and nearly insignificant ring set with one green stone. She removed one glove to put it on, and it slid neatly onto the ring finger of her right hand. How was this supposed to guide her? "Um...I would...I would like to go..." Where? Where was she going? "Where I'm supposed to." Suddenly the ring flared to life, glowing so brightly she almost dropped the box. A beam of light went out the door and down the lane, towards the uncertainty of the snow covered woods.

She rode for hours, down trails she knew and many more that were as foreign to her as they were to visitors in general. She passed a few ill prepared travelers who looked not only unused to the cold, but the pain of a long ride. Her riding clothes softened the blows of the bouncing, lessening the black and blue marks sure to mar her thighs later in the evening. Belle took only two pauses in her ride, each of which the ring seemed to burn and scald her finger. She ate and drank and shook snow from her scarlet hood. Rimmed in white rabbit fur it kept out most of the cold, but a chill that had nothing to do with the atmosphere sank deep into her skin.

Was she riding to her death?

An enchanted ring meant little - had she not been terrified it would have fascinated her - other than the fact that this strange being could possibly be a wizard, or under the employment of a witch. She urged Phillipe faster when the howl of a wolf sounded somewhere in the trees. Unfortunately she hadn't the comfort of her thoughts, because before long another howl answered the first. The hairs along her arms rose at the third. By the fourth, making it a quartet from somewhere behind her, she'd urged her enormous steed into a full out gallop. They were hunting her.


	4. Chapter 4

Phillipe had never run so hard in his entire life. Belle bent low over his neck and clutched his sides with her knees. The howls were growing closer, and when she lifted her eyes to look around she caught sight of dark, grey forms slicing through the trees surrounding what remained of the path. She gasped in horror as yellow eyes flashed in her direction, and pulled Phillipe hard to the left when one of the forms leaped at them. The teeth of the animal barely missed scraping her shoe. Suddenly the cold air wasn't quite so threatening. The hunger she'd been thinking about fled.

She just had to go _faster_!

It was the wolf who suddenly appeared to run beside them that drew her attention. She'd read of Alpha wolves, but never dreamed she would see one so close. Its eyes were amber, its mouth full of hideous teeth. Around its throat was a thicker coat of black, and the fur around its muzzle was stained crimson. Across its left eye was a long, thick, pink scar that pulled its lip up into a larger snarl than it might have had otherwise. It snapped at Phillipe's leg and the horse reared. "No! Phillipe! Run!" She cried, attempting to force him back down. He pawed at the air and whinnied.

She clung to his back and gasped at the tug at her throat. One of the wolves pulled at her hooded cape, and she just barely freed herself before Phillipe landed his forelegs down again, trampling one of the smaller ones. She could easily hear the snap and crunch of the poor thing's bones, but they surged forward again, leaving the corpse behind. Several of the wolves, smaller and sickly looking, dragged it off into the depths of the trees. Only three remained on the hunt - including the alpha. Tears pricked at her vision and the ring on her finger suddenly sent fire along her hand - and she was sure - gave a weak tug to the right.

Belle steered Phillipe down a trail she would have missed otherwise, and as they galloped forward she saw what looked to be an imposing iron gate, left partially open. The steed seemed to have spotted the same and surged forward. She pulled hard enough on the reigns to pull Phillipe into a rear and slid backwards, nearly twisting her ankle as she fell onto cold, slick cobblestone. The young woman raced forward and just managed to slam the gate closed as the trio of wolves threw themselves against it. One of them managed to fit its muzzle through the gate and tear the sleeve of her dress, but the lock on the gate seemed to do its job. She collapsed backwards with a sob.

The ring no longer sent out light. It was cool against her finger, its power apparently exhausted. Only after the wolves had stalked away did she find the strength to stand and take a look at her surroundings. She was in a courtyard of some kind, full of leafless trees with gnarled branches and black bark. Dead silence surrounded her. In front of her was an imposing looking castle, its sharp turrets grey with filthy snow and gargoyles perched at every corner. She took Phillipe's reigns in hand and slowly led him forward through an arch of dark stone. Empty pots sat on either side of it, and as she walked through she found what she assumed her father had - a clean, dry stable. She penned the horse inside and continued her search.

The grounds were bare. There wasn't a single servant in sight, and the disrepair of the structure encouraged her belief that there weren't any. Belle shivered as she looked around, finally finding a strangle, glass door that opened easily to her gentle push. Inside, was a wonderland. A white, stone path curved this way and that through bushes of Azaleas and Hydrangeas. Daisies filled the gaps and she'd never seen such rainbows of colors! She walked slowly along the pathway, quite forgetting where she was. It was warm enough to melt the snow that clung to her hair. She distantly heard the quiet tinkling of a fountain. As she turned another corner she froze in her steps. There, not four steps ahead, was the most beautiful rose bush she'd ever seen.

She moved as though caught in a spell, one hand extended to clutch the silky flowers blooming on the well tended plant. It obviously had a place of honor, as four marble benches sat around it for admiring, although three were heavily damaged. Belle pushed a lock of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear, and the dizzying scent of roses froze her. They almost seemed to glow. Ever so carefully she reached one hand out and -

"What do you think you're doing?" The voice was a roar from behind her, and she whirled to see an enormous, brown...beast standing on its hind legs. It roared again. Belle stared up at the figure in horror, falling back over a broken marble bench. She'd meant to be brave. She'd meant to not cry. Yet tears streamed down her cheeks and tremors took her body. She'd done this for her father. The minute he crawled in through the front door coughing and retching with fear, she knew she'd be giving something up. "I said, _what do you think you're doing?" _Curling, black horns grew from its forehead and it was covered in a thick layer of shaggy, brown fur. It easily stood eight feet tall, and a long, thick tail seemed to support it as it stood.

"I-I, my father...he..." She couldn't breathe, let alone speak. Why hadn't her father prepared her for this? "I agreed." She finally managed to force out.

The beast seemed confused. "Agreed? Agreed to steal from me?" The voice was decidedly masculine, and hypnotizing blue eyes caught and held her. If she was about to die, at least she could watch them as the life left her body. "Was your father the man I fed and warmed? He sat in my chair. Slept in my bed." He snarled, going down into a crouch. She'd never seen anything so terrifying. "Then he made to steal my most precious possession."

"You...you freed him...in return for a...a daughter to marry." She blurted, staring up at him. Belle still hadn't moved from her place on the floor, and sharp pieces of stone were bloodying her hand.

The beast made a sound similar to outrage and advanced so that he was standing over her. From here she could feel the heat radiating from him, and those _teeth! _They reminded her of the wolves circling outside the gate. She didn't dare move. "Is that what that weasel of a man told you? Far from it. He begged to bid farewell to his precious daughters. He swore to return and accept his punishment for throwing my hospitality back in my face. If he sent you, it was out of fear for his own skin." His words were knives in her gut - piercing, burning, twisting knives - and there seemed to be no end of them.

"What did you say?" Her voice was a whisper.

"Your dear father lied to you, to save himself. If you've come in his place, this is not where you belong." He suddenly stood and pulled her up by one arm. Her shoulder screamed with pain as he yanked her off of her feet and held her arm above his head. "The garden is no place for prisoners." Lowering her back onto her feet, he stalked back through the garden. She found herself running to keep up with him. If she didn't, he might very well tear her arm from her socket.

"Please! I only meant to make amends for my father! He couldn't have lied to me like that! He wouldn't!" She tripped over a step as he dragged her into the castle, and she didn't have a second to admire it. Hallways and stairways and tapestries went by in a blur as they ascended higher and higher. It became increasingly colder, and darker, and soon she realized she was _not_ in a very welcoming place. They entered a circular room filled with doors, each with a little window at the bottom and bars across it. Belle pulled against his grip when he jerked one of the doors open, and could do little else as he fairly threw her inside. It was wet. It was cold. It was a _cell. _

"Your father lied to you. The moment you realize that is the moment I know what to do with you." He growled, slamming it closed.

Belle fell to her knees and gripped the bars, pushing as hard as she could. The door refused to budge. "Monsieur! Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

His shadow was fading from view, but she heard his heavy footfalls stop short of the stairs. "I'm called Beast." He said quietly, silence suddenly dominating the small space. "You'll do well to remember it."


	5. Chapter 5

I'm so pleased to see people enjoying the story! Please let me know what you like or don't like, what you'd like to see me bring in and etc.

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Belle counted the stones in the walls that surrounded her. She felt the rough, biting wood of the door and tried the handle countless times. She couldn't give Beast the pleasure of begging, she decided. Although the bitter winter chill crept between the cracks in the stone, she bit her lip and refused to cry. It howled around the building and pulled whatever sleep she might have gotten away. It gave her plenty of time to think. Wouldn't someone have said something about a reclusive monster in a terrifying castle? Would they have mentioned...something? She drew her knees tight to her chest, and pressed herself against the wall closest to the door. It was a little warmer at that spot, but not enough that she wasn't mentally cursing her father. Her teeth were chattering too badly to do it out loud.

Why would he _lie_ to her?! He'd known she would volunteer to help him. He'd known she would...she would...

The doorknob rattled, and after a moment the door swung open. She was too cold to be properly afraid of seeing Beast again, so when a round, ceramic teapot _hopped_ into the darkness of her cell she only blinked at it and kept her crouched position.

"Oh dear me! Oh my! Has he really locked you in this cell? Dear, dear, it's much too cold for that!" The little pot hopped round so that it's spout faced her, and Belle let out a little, startled yelp. It was talking! It had a face! With a plump little mouth and firm, round cheeks it looked like a pleasant older woman. It smiled so gently, that the young woman was more startled than afraid.

"W-what are you..."

"I'm Mrs. Potts dear," The object said, hopping closer. It really was a beautiful thing, all white ceramic and gold trim. It had turquoise and purple accents, which only added to it's pleasant look. She'd never seen such a _nice_ teapot before. "I've brought you a little something. I hadn't the slightest idea it would be this cold, or I would have brought you some blankets and soup." A firm little frown tugged down the corners of it's - her - mouth. "Well, I brought what I could. Chip! Chip! Quickly dear, before the Master comes up!"

Then in hopped another curious little thing - a small, white teacup. It was followed by a little plate with a silver lid, and what looked like a sugar bowl and pitcher of cream. The cup hopped up to Mrs. Potts, and she poured what looked to be a promising, steaming amber liquid into it from her spout. The sugar bowl and pitcher added their contents as well, and Belle cautiously reached out when the cup turned her way. It settled perfectly into her palm, and when she took a sip it actually giggled.

"Mama, it tickles!" Belle quickly pulled away, but Mrs. Potts was quick to hush the little thing.

"Let her warm up, Chip, so she can eat something. I'm sorry to rush you dear, but I haven't the slightest idea when he'll return."

Concerned by Mrs. Potts's tone, Belle quickly finished the cup of tea and accepted a second before warmth crept back into her fingers and toes. It was only then that the silver lid moved aside on its own to reveal a portion of cold chicken and thick crusted bread. Belle pressed a hand against her stomach. While the tea was certainly fine, and seemed to even be helping her gain a bit of control over her thoughts, chicken would probably make her lose it all. Still, she reached out and took the bread. After thanking the dishes, yet another first, Belle tucked it into the pocket of her apron.

Mrs. Potts hopped closer and pressed herself against Belle's thigh. Gladdened and warmed by the company, Belle found herself dozing off until there was an alarming clatter. All at once the dishes were suddenly leaving as quickly as they came. Mrs. Potts was nudging Chip through the open door.

"The Master is on his way up. Stay right here, dear. You'll be right as rain." Then with that she was gone, the cell door locking behind her.

Belle didn't have to wait for long. Before she knew it the door was flung open, and in stormed the Beast. The room that had once seemed too small, was now such a tight fit she could hardly breathe. When he grasped her arm and yanked her to her feet, leaving her shoulder screaming in agony, Belle could have almost thanked him. Instead, she simply whimpered. "Where are you taking me now?" She gasped, stumbling behind Beast. All she had for a reply was a low, deep growl.

She was pulled down a spiraling staircase and through a bustling kitchen, complete with a roaring fire and the clattering of dishes and pans. She saw Mrs. Potts resting on a large, iron stove but said nothing. She would have liked to linger and look over the selection of dried herbs she could see hanging from the exposed beams. Instead she quickened her pace to keep up with his long strides, her breath catching at the brilliant decadence of the castle. The hallways went on forever, their steps muffled by beautiful carpets with blues and golds and greens. Tapestries decorated the walls, and eventually he released her arm.

She took the time now to admire it all. Painted vases filled with flowers from the garden and marble busts lined the hallways. They reached a stretch armed on either side with full suits of armor she assumed were empty - until they turned to face them, saluting with sharpened swords. "You will not be here as my prisoner," Beast growled, slowing his steps and releasing her arm. Belle took the opportunity to rub her sore shoulder. If she was home, she would have taken something to heal it, maybe a hot bath to soothe the ache.

"Then...what am I to be here as?" She swallowed when the eyes of a portrait followed her, its mouth curving into a frown.

"My guest." He bit off the words. "Your father may have given your life to me, but he was the one at fault. Not you. You will have a room, and free reign of the castle. But you must never enter the East Wing. If you do, you'll go back to the tower," He snapped, coming to a halt in front of a pair of dark wood doors. Both were engraved with an alarming amount of detail, but she didn't have the chance to look at it any more. Beast shoved them open to reveal the most beautiful room she'd ever seen.

The floors sparkled in the light of half a dozen golden torches secured to the walls. What might have been an opposing wall was instead an enormous window that looked out onto a dark night. Frost had whitened the corners, but she could only barely see such a thing peeking from behind a pair of thick, red velvet curtains. The walls were the color of fresh cream, with a trim around the room just two shades darker.

She followed him into the room. There was a bed big enough for both herself and her sisters, draped in a duvet so plush it looked to be made of clouds, with enough pillows she wondered if it was possible to drown in them. A beautifully carved vanity with a looking glass and a selection of combs, brushes and small, metal tins certain to contain the same cosmetics her sisters enjoyed sat just opposite the bed, beside a chest of drawers. A roaring fire set into a marble hearth and a fine, small round table by the window set with a bouquet of roses and a lace tablecloth, flanked by two high backed chairs added to the comfort of the room. What looked like a copper bathtub was hidden almost entirely from view by a standing curtain.

Everything about it was impossibly lovely.

"This is your room. You will have servants to attend you. Tonight you will bathe and dress. You will find clothes laid out for you. You will then join me for dinner," With that he turned and left, the sound of a key turning in the lock serving to remind her that she was still a prisoner. She waited until the thundering of his footsteps was merely an echo before going for the tub. Rose scented steam rose from the filled bath, and Belle wondered if giving her such comforts was actually a trick, meant only to break her spirit. She'd read about such things, but found that even with such knowledge in mind she couldn't help but shed her filthy clothes and sink deep into the water.

The sweet smelling water lapped at her chin as she sank into the deep basin. She scrubbed away the dirt from from her ride and the filth from the tower. She lathered her hair with a bar of soap that rested on a nearby towel, and soon she was as pink as she could possibly be. It took some time for her to feel clean, let alone relax. The water cooled long before then, leaving her chilly and staring up at the ceiling. Her hair, nearly black as it floated in the water, stuck to her throat and cheeks. Eventually the water was too cold to remain in, and she climbed out to dry off with a thick, plush towel folded beside the tub on the floor.

Belle took her time drying and combing out her hair. Whatever was in the soap had done wonders for it. It curled full and dark around her shoulders, complimenting the flush in her cheeks brought on by her steadily growing anger. If he didn't consider her a prisoner - if she had her own room, servants and clothes - then why should she do as he said? She left the towel on the floor by the vanity and walked slowly toward the bed, where a beautiful blue gown had been laid. Soft, white linen underthings lay next to it, as well as a pair of soft blue shoes with a delicate, black heel. She couldn't help picking them up and running her hands over them. They were a dyed leather as soft as butter, and before she knew it they were on her feet.

"What am I doing?" She murmured, slipping the gown over her head. The long sleeves clung to her arms, as well as the bodice to her waist, while the skirt fell with just enough room to not block movement. It gently swept the floor. In fact, it was more comfortable than restricting. Just as she began to admire her reflection there were two sharp raps at the door. She hurried to open it, and a harsh little cough drew her eyes downward. There stood what looked like a cross little clock. It had an actual face, which happened to be frowning up at her. "Oh, um, hello," She stammered. "Who are you?"

"I'm Cogsworth, and I'm here to take you to dinner."


	6. Chapter 6

Belle followed Cogsworth down the hall, unable to stop twisting her hands together. She took one step for every four steps he did, and kept her head down. She wanted to speak, to ask why inanimate objects were walking and talking and behaving like servants, but worried that a demand for freedom would erupt instead. They turned left and she realized they were heading back towards the kitchen. The little clock cleared its - his - throat and a pair of doors swung open without a sound. The young woman looked up finally and couldn't help but gasp. Was the room before her for dining or dancing? Twin chandeliers lit the room with a golden glow, and the walls were painted a deep, warm maroon. Cogsworth led her to one high backed chair and did his best to pull it out for her to sit. Directly to her left, parallel with a table large enough for twenty, was a fireplace that could have easily consumed her father's stable. Above it hung a painting of a woman sitting on a marble bench that looked suspiciously like the one she'd tripped over.

Beast did not stand to greet her. He glowered from his place at one end of the opulently decorated table while she pulled herself closer. The tablecloth was silk she realized, a deep purple and hemmed with a thick border of gold. There were more silver trays than she could guess what to do with. Anxiously she pulled some of her curls over her shoulder and ran her fingers through. Did he...did he expect her to say something? She looked around uncertainly and watched Cogsworth climb the mantel over the fireplace and tap on a three-armed golden candelabra with leaf-shaped accents. It opened eyes she wouldn't have seen otherwise that appeared to be sculpted in the middle and tallest candle, its other two it waved in a sort of bow.

"We would like to welcome our guest in the best way we know how," It said suddenly. "With, a dinner," All at once every lid suddenly lifted and rolled itself away and out the doors. There were roasted game hens basted with butter and herbs until the meat crackled and spit, the smell of them wafting towards her in the most pleasing of ways. She could smell cured meats and sausages, and saw what she assumed were mussels steamed in white wine - something her father had told her of when he visited the ports. There were platters of fruit so colorful she could only name three of them, namely the strawberries, apples and grapes, and fresh-baked bread. There was a tureen of steaming, thick soup of barley and venison that smelled of home; one of sweet onion covered in cheese, and salads of sweetgrass and spinach and plums sprinkled with crushed nuts; snails in honey and garlic; sweetbreads and pigeon pie, baked apples fragrant with cinnamon, and lemon cakes frosted in sugar. The bottles of wine poured themselves into a glass at her hand, and little golden forks and spoons served her from every dish offered.

She used her index finger to taste some soft, grey stuff that was absolutely delicious, but lost her appetite the moment Beast began to eat. He was ravenous and sloppy, cutlery long forgotten and instead being careful to only not break the dishes. Soup matted the fur around his mouth, and bones began to litter the floor at his feet as he tore through several of the small chickens. Her stomach flopped and she pressed a hand to her breastbone before taking a sip of the wine. It was sharp and smooth, the flavor not only grapes but of something exotic and spiced.

"Must you carry on that way?" She asked finally, blotting her mouth dry with a napkin.

Beast looked up at her and scowled around a mouthful of pigeon pie. "Eat,"

"I'd rather not, actually," She set her napkin on the table, straightening in her seat.

"It wasn't a request," He pointed to the tray of otherwise appealing lemon cakes.

"I'm not hungry," Her cheeks were growing warmer.

"If you don't eat with me, you won't eat at all!"

"Fine!" She pushed herself to her feet and flinched slightly when he did as well, his chair flying back across the floor.

"Then starve!" He roared, flinging a metal tray at her. It flew past her left ear when she narrowly flinched out of the way, and bolted for the door. Dishes were fleeing, silverware was rattling on the table. Beast roared and as she yanked open one of the huge doors, she saw him hurl the table across the room. It scraped along the floor, the table cloth tore, and then she was running faster than she'd ever thought she could move. Blinded by tears and anger, the only familiar way was back to the room she'd been 'given'. She barred herself in, managing to lock the doors before anyone arrived.

She'd done it with no time to spare, because almost the second the bolt slid into place she could hear Beast roaring and pounding on the other side. She backed away towards the bed, her hands shaking. "Go away!"

"This is my home! How dare you come here and make a fool of me! I was being kind! I made a dinner for you, I had clothes made for you, and now you refuse my kindness?" Almost every word was punctuated with a strike on the door so sharp she thought she saw the wood bend. "You can't stay in there forever!"

"Yes I can! I would rather starve in here than spend a moment with you!" She managed to choke out the words, reached blindly for something and felt her fingers wrap around the neck of a vase. It didn't move, so with the mad hope it wasn't alive she threw it at the door. The crystal shattered, leaving wet petals and water dripping down the wood. The noise on the other side of the door stopped. She thought she could maybe hear low voices murmuring together, then the heavy _thud-thud-thud_ of Beast's foot steps fading away. Belle swayed on her feet, then turned and stumbled for the enormous bed. Collapsing onto it, she didn't bother to remove the dress. Instead she buried herself in the duvet and the silk of her gown, and prayed that sleep would find her. For a short time, she did.

Then there were three, soft and distinct knocks on the door.

Belle rose slowly, the candles dripping wax down the holder and onto the floor. The light in the room was low, but she was able to make her way to the door. She felt like she was dreaming, and when she noticed opened the door the realization struck her. Of _course_ she was dreaming. Before her stood the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on. His copper hair fell in perfect waves just beneath his ears. His bright blue eyes were focused so intently, that she almost didn't see the ghost of a smile he wore or the tray of welcoming food in his hands. He was taller by at least a head's height, and dressed in a blue and gold pair of trousers, torn at the knee. Although he was shirtless, it was his eyes that caught and held her like a vice. Where had she seen them before?

"I'm Adam," He said, the words coming through a fog.

"Belle..." Was she actually speaking? It was such a pleasant dream, but her tongue felt too heavy in her mouth. "Won't you come in?"

"Yes, thank you," He moved in past her and set the tray on the table by the window before giving her a bow. She returned with what she felt was a perfect curtsy. "Belle, I would like to apologize for the actions of the Beast. He is unused to other people, and his anger has only grown over his years of solitude. Please be kind to him, and gentle with him. He will come to see you for the blessing you are, not the curse he believes now," He'd stepped so close she could smell him - an intoxicating scent of sunlight and musk that had her falling.

She wasn't at all surprised when he caught her, and when he carried her towards the bed she merely smiled. It was a very nice dream. She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his fingers combing through her hair. "You want me to be nice to Beast?" She felt Adam's lips on her cheek and couldn't help but sigh.

"He needs kindness, Belle. He needs a friend," His words came more distantly now, from the other side of the valley rather than through a fog. His voice was the call of the doves as the sun crept over the snow covered hills. "He needs love,"

Belle sat up then, wide awake and alert, to see only the sun shining into her room. The doors were shut and bolted, and the candles had burned themselves into mere lumps of wax. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and frowned. She'd never had such a nice, real dream before. It took some work to push back the tangle of blankets and make her way to the window. Now with morning light shed upon the grounds, it was even more striking than the night before. Eager to change into something more suitable she turned for the dresser - and saw a silver tray resting on her table. She lifted the lid to find fruit, cheese and bread. A tin mug of cider was present as well, which she could easily warm with a poker from the fire. But...where had it come from?

She put a hand to her cheek and lifted a single, pink rose from the tray. Its petals were just beginning to unfurl. What was going on in this castle?

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_For those who are reviewing, thank you! It means a lot to me to get feedback. To clarify quickly, in the original telling of Beauty & The Beast, Belle was visited in her dreams by a handsome Prince who begged her - again and again - to give the Beast one more chance. He was so real to her that she actually began to hunt through the castle for what she believed was Beast's captive. I'm not sure if I'm going that route (a dream), or if I want Adam to have his own form when Belle sleeps, similarly to some Greek and Roman myths of gods and their lovers. Let me know which you prefer!_


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